


Prisoner of War

by HeahmundAndIvar (bvckybcrnes)



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Gen, Knives, Prisoner Heahmund, Religious Conflict, Religious Discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 01:08:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bvckybcrnes/pseuds/HeahmundAndIvar
Summary: Ivar has some fun mocking a captured Bishop and his faith...





	Prisoner of War

His head still hurt when he awoke. He had been stuck somewhere in between awake and nearly unconscious ever since his path had crossed with the pagan leader at the gates of York. The searing pain that seemed to haunt his skull appeared to be the culprit behind his misery. The bishop felt weak. He tried to hide it whenever he was awake, knowing that the heathens would be watching him. They were always watching, and the devil was with him. He fears no man and until his path had crossed with the cripple, he had always thought the devil to be of a monstrous kind and no man. But the Bishop did not cower in fear. The pagan leader was but a man and if this was the shape of the devil, then he shall not fear this evil but face it instead. 

He could feel the eyes poking at him, the gazes of the guilty and the cruel. The pagans were eyeing him like hawks would lure at the mice in the forests that laid near the city of Jorvík. Heahmund knew this feeling - or at least the feeling of being watched. He does not mind people watching him, for it brought him power and confidence - and it made him feel so much closer to the Father. But here, in this moment, it all is different. 

The Bishop knew where he was. The smell, however, he did not like. For such evils and dishonour to be brought upon the house of God - he will make the pagans pay for their sins! A church, once so peaceful and a home to many more than just God and Christ, was now but a barn - but at least the rats were gone. If he had anything left in his stomach, he would have thrown up at the thought of rats littering and rustling through the deepest root of his darkened heart. 

Silence ruled in this house, and the Bishop preferred it this way. What was left of the church should not be harmed further by these vile pagans. It should be kept and restored. But first, he must kill them all.

There was no scratching and squeaking of any rodent. But he could hear the scraping of other things, a sound so eerie to the tired Bishop’s ears that he did find the strength to open his tired and aching eyes. And there he sat - the devil in a crippled man’s disguise. Heahmund’s mouth was dry. He could not spit at the man, but he would as soon as he could. For now, a lousy grin would do. 

And the heathen grinned in return. Ivar the Boneless sat with his pet priest and observed him with a smile so kind and welcoming it would have frightened any other Christian - but not this one. The young prince found it quite interesting, but kept his surprise for his own and displayed a look of seriousness instead. He licked his bottom lip slowly, showing the prisoner bishop that he had quite some time on his hands this time. Their first encounter had been brief, and they had not been alone. But now was different, and so was the pagan leader. Not a single word had been spoken between the two of them, yet Heahmund could see that the boy did not behave the same way he does when he is among his people in moments where he can be on his own, free from any spying eyes. It brought a thought to the Bishop’s mind - Perhaps this heathen is more man than animal after all, but how could one commit such crimes and cruelties? It must be that their pagan gods lack the concept of love, the Bishop nearly pitied the child.

A child, indeed. This boy could not be much older than the brave prince Alfred the Bishop knew so well. But this child was in charge of an army, and Alfred was not. In a sense, it could be intriguing, but the Bishop found it foolish. Had these pagans any sense of doing just...about anything right?

The men looked at each other in silence. There was a silent battle between them, a game of observation to see who could pick up the most from the other by only watching them. Neither of them owed the other any hint of emotion though, both men perhaps being equally stubborn in their own ways. Ivar found it pleasant - almost like a child, indeed. Heahmund found nothing special about it and soon chose to wait instead. Surely, this heathen must have something up his mind if not only a turd. 

“I have heard many stories about you,” Ivar the Boneless then stated. “Just like you must have heard them about me.” Heahmund remained silent and watched the pagan. He wanted to hear what this evil child has to tell him. “I have heard that you fear no evil, and that you fear no man.” Ivar pushed himself up, moving closer to the bishop so that he could reach out to the man if he wanted to do so. He found no threat in the prisoner. Ever since he had returned to him, the Bishop had not moved one muscle. It could of course be a trap, but Ivar was confident that he could easily end this man. It would be a shame, however, and it made the prince wonder if this man fears death just like his people. 

Their eye contact broke for the first time when Heahmund’s gaze moved down to watch what the crippled boy pulled from his belt. He did not cower when he saw the blade. He would not allow the child such pleasure and met with his eyes in return. Heahmund did not fear the boy - a child perhaps young enough to be a son he could not have. “But, you see-” Ivar commenced, speaking slow but clear. One might just ask themselves where this boy had learned the language of his enemy, for he could easily make the Bishop feel like he is being put under a pagan spell by speaking his heathen tongue. Yet even if he had such power, Ivar would not want to use it. He wanted the Bishop to understand him, and smirked. “This, is not a man.” Ivar finished his sentence by lifting up the blade and bringing it to Heahmund’s cheekbone. He poked the sharp tip at the man’s skin, just hard enough to create a small drop of crimson red. Heahmund didn’t budge, and Ivar hummed pleasantly. “Oh, so your god does bleed!” the young prince mocked. It angered Heahmund that he lacked the strength to fight this heathen and teach him a lesson of his own. He could only roll aside and away from the blade, exhaling a deep grunt. Heahmund tried to block out the boy’s childish giggle. 

Ivar crept closer again, the blade clutched in his fist and a grin plastered on his face. He could not let the Bishop get away with this so easily... 

“Is your god a coward, priest?” Ivar asked, but his question seemed to fall upon deaf ears. “If you choose yourself to be godly, then is it not your duty to act in the name of your god?” Heahmund tried to block out the annoying sound of the pagan’s voice, but it was difficult, for this child was insulting him and his religion. It fueled the anger in the Bishop’s heart, but it did not spark the energy he needs in order to silence this heathen by himself. 

The blade returned. This time, Ivar left its cold metal on the other cheek the Bishop had offered him - and Heahmund wished he could beat himself up over this foolish martyr’s move. “They say your god has a sign,” Ivar mused, teasing the Bishop’s skin with the sharp edge of his dagger. “I saw you do it. Perhaps I should cut off one of these hands of yours, hm? So you can no longer reach to your God. So that he can abandon you.” 

“Heathen.” The word was exhaled in a sigh from the Bishop. Ivar snickered briefly. It seems to be the only word this Bishop knows apart from the angry shouting of what seemed to be the poems of his people. Ivar had caught up that these Christians believed for the Vikings to be angry, ruthless and mindless beasts, but it stood in sharp contrast with how this particular priest has acted among his enemies thus far. 

Ivar pressed his lips together and grinned. His thumb carressed the knife handle patiently while he waited for the priest to seek eye contact with him from the corner of his eyes, for he chose to not move against the blade - like a coward, perhaps? “I believe your sign goes like this,” Ivar spoke in a whisper. His eyes were hard, wide and set on his blade when he pushed its tip down, into the Bishop’s flesh. Another speck of crimson red escaped from the man’s cheekbone before Ivar trailed the knife downwards, leaving a cut on the Bishop’s cheek. Heahmund could only grunt like an old pig at the pain the heathen child was inflicting on his sacred skin. He would make this wretched heathen pay for his sins! 

“And then... I believe, it went like this.” Ivar placed the knife on the Bishop’s skin a third time, now starting on the right side of the cut on the man’s cheek. He did not wait before he drew the blade towards him, slowly, but with enough pressure in order to draw another red cut in the Bishop’s skin. When finished, Ivar could only laugh at his own creation and he cheered up visibly. He drew back his dagger and grabbed the starved and weakened Bishop by the shoulder in a manner a friend would do and flashed him a wide grin. 

“See! I have carved the sign of your god in your skin! Now he will be with you every day,” the young prince mocked. He pat the Bishop on the shoulder before he turned and left, dragging his heavy, but deformed legs behind him. Bishop Heahmund said no more, but he thought plenty and cruel. The ache in his arm was minor to his need to stroke his cheek there where the pagan boy had maimed his skin and when he could see the blood on his fingers, the Bishop could feel the rage burn within him...

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://heahmundandivar.tumblr.com/) for more!


End file.
